


A Name Carved on the Heart

by Poplitealqueen



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Divergence ( Thorin doesn't die), F/M, Feels, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thus she continued on with a hole where her heart used to be. It would heal, as hurts always do. Yet it would mend ragged, and would always, always bear the scar of his secret name on it."</p><p>Tauriel and Kili could never be- it wasn't meant to happen, but that doesn't stop them from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Name Carved on the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
> 
> It was mean of me to write this.
> 
> Forgiveness, please?
> 
> -Issie, Queen-of-the-Sobbing-Feels
> 
> I'd say enjoy, but it'll be difficult

He'd come to her the night before the battle. They'd met in secret, with only her mellith's blond-haired brother knowing where the young Dwarven prince had actually gone.  
They'd met on a bluff on the outskirts of the ruins of Dale, well away from either opposing army. There- among the wind smoothed stone- they had shared words of joking and of thanks; than he had stood on boot tips to plant a kiss on her lips. It had been a surprising moment, but she was not averse to it- in fact, she could recall quite well how much she had wanted to taste of those lips since she had seen them for the first time in the forests of the Mirkwood. Yet it still left her speechless nonetheless.

  
He had looked at her with those dark cheerful eyes of his-- as deep and mysterious as the shadows of the trees of her home; as soft as the feeling of dusk passing through the leaves. Those eyes had seemed just the tiniest bit somber while she stood flummoxed...until she answered with a kiss of her own. Then those eyes- bright and dark- closed, and they shared the sensation of one another under the stormy skies on the eve of war.

  
And under that brumous canopy, on that stony bluff with nothing but the wind to cover them, he had taken her-- or maybe she had taken him. Even now, looking back on that most wonderful of nights, she was unsure. Her sharp Elven mind refused to let her remember it to well, lest she drown in the memory. The entire experience of sharing one body, one mind, one breath, one heart had left her without words.  
But not him.

  
As they lay open upon his fur-lined cloak, he had whispered a word to her as he pulled loosely at her hair. One word: a name. Something so secret and special that she could think of nothing she could give in return. He told that she did not need to give him anymore than she already had, but Tauriel had never been one to follow flawed orders. She could think of nothing on its own, so she gave him everything she had.

  
At the apex, he had groaned her name and she had shouted his into the howling wind. The secret one. The name carved onto his heart by his Maker. The light that shined in his face as she said it was brighter than any star she had ever walked among.  
Later, as the blood-pink of the dawn had begun to seep into the gray sky, they begrudgingly parted ways to return to armies.  
Her dwarf had left with an easy smile on his face, tossing his mother's rune-stone nonchalantly in the air and catching it with a flourish before pressing it softly into her hand.

  
“ I cannot take this, mellith,” she whispered to him.  
He'd simply laughed, and closed her fingers around it with his.  
“ Take it, alright? I have no more need of it.” he winked playfully. “ I shall see my 'amad again once this battle is won, that I'm sure. I know I return to her, but I do not know if you if you return to me...”  
He'd sighed as in the distance a war horn had sounded. He'd then looked up at her with a spark in his eyes.  
“But if you're that worried about what my 'amad may think, return it after we rote these bloody orcs, eh?”  
She had smiled back at him.

  
“ Of course, mellin non. I would not want your “ 'amad”to be worried, after all.”

  
Her clumsy attempt at Khuzdul had left his face jovial.  
“ Your accent isn't half bad; she'll adore you!”  
She rolled her eyes at him, pulling him around to braid his brown hair. The rune-stone she stored in the pocket of her tunic, close to her heart.

  
“ I'll be pleased to meet her,” she said, “ But to see you again will bring the most joy to my heart.”

  
She had tied the battle-braid off and helped him don his helm.  
“ Look for me on the southern slopes facing the forest. I shall appear there at war's end.”

  
Her murmur had left her Dwarf pink and proud.  
“A-aye, milady.” he'd stuttered happily. “ I shall meet you there.”  
And she had believed his words, those naïve lies spoken as the sun rose. It had seemed at that moment as if the battle had already been won- the orcs utterly defeated. As if death did not exist.

>*

And then she'd seen him.

Lying still beside his brother; eyes pale with death.

And facing south; towards her. A silent plea in their fathomless depths.

The rune-stone stayed clutched in her hand as she fell to her knees. She could not get close to the bodies of her mellith and his kin- the Naugrim would not allow it. From this distance, she could see Thorin Oakenshield ( the new King-under-the-Mountain, her mind supplied dully) kneeling over them, nearly as pale as their lifeless bodies, sobbing into his dirtied tresses.

She could not even cry.

She told herself she hadn't the right nor the privilege to mourn him. She'd barely known him. He was not of the Wood, nor an Elf; he was a Dwarf, a Nogoth, and he had his own family to cleanse his rotting body with their tears. She had no right to cry over him.

But she'd kept the rune-stone, whether it was because she needed something of his close to still breathe, or because she couldn't bear the blame of his mother ( for had she not taken her son's protection from him?) if she attempted to return it. So she kept it safely near her always; a relic to talk to that she'd not even had from her parent's death.

Thus she continued on with a hole where her heart used to be. It would heal, as hurts always do. Yet it would mend ragged, and would always, always bear the scar of his secret name on it. But for now, on a gentle southern slope overlooking Erebor, as the lesion bled fresh and festering within her, she would stopper it with half-truths and guilt as she returned to the Mirkwood, melting into just another shadow beneath the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> Sindarin Translations  
> mellith- love  
> mellin non- love of my heart  
> Erebor- The Lonely Mountain  
> Naugrim- Dwarves
> 
> Khuzdul Translations  
> 'amad- mother


End file.
